


Heaven and Earth

by blackkat



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Torchwood
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Dæmons, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Romance, WTH brain...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Torchwood/HDM fusion.)</p><p>While still in the junior researcher position at Torchwood One, Ianto Jones and his unusual dæmon catch the attention of Torchwood Three's Captain Jack Harkness, and everything rearranges itself from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More Things In Heaven and Earth, Horatio (Than Is Dreamt of In Your Philosophy)

Ianto had always been aware of the fact that he was fairly unusual. Mielikki settled when he was very young, and stood out sharply in a family that was almost entirely possessed of dog or small bird dæmons. His father never quite forgave him for the oddity of having a ten-year-old son with a settled dæmon, especially a dæmon that stood over two feet tall at the shoulder and outweighed her human at least twice over.

But for himself, Ianto knew that Mielikki settled because they were both ready for her to do so. He’d always had a good grasp of who he was, and she had always reflected that. Ianto was careful and cunning and loyal, and more dangerous than he appeared, and Mielikki was a predator dæmon in a family of follower dæmons. 

They’d practically been forced to be self-aware, being as they were. 

*.~.*.~.*

In truth, it was utter chance that they even met, and especially when they did. Ianto supposed, after the fact, that in some world, some universe—because it was a widely acknowledged secret that there were many, even if none of The Powers That Be would ever make it official—there was a version of him that never met Jack at all, or perhaps didn’t meet him until after the tragedy that was the Battle of Canary Wharf. But here, in this one, Ianto was a junior researcher assigned to a science team that just happened to be studying something the Captain of Torchwood Three was interested in. 

Naturally, because of that interest, Captain Harkness came in person to get the item transferred to Cardiff so his own tech could study it. 

Yvonne Hartman was most certainly Not Amused, Ianto could see as she swept into the laboratory. He didn’t even have to look at her dæmon to know that, although the giant huntsman spider was bristling on her shoulder. Never one to indulge in his more blatant attacks of stupidity, Ianto immediately left off staring at the pretty lab tech—“Hallett,” her nametag read, and he’d heard one of her friends call her Lisa—and pretended to be immersed in the files he’d pulled from the Archives the day before. Mielikki, despite being equally enamored of Lisa and Lisa’s Green Iguana dæmon, leapt up from where she’d been curled at his feet and tried to slink under his desk. As a fairly large snow leopard, it was a bit of a tight fit. 

Thankfully, Hartman barely glanced at them in her quick survey of the room before turning her attention to the man accompanying her. 

“Well, Harkness?” she demanded icily. “Our teams have everything well in hand. There's no need for any of your _dramatics_.”

She spat the word out as though it were, in her book, tantamount to treason and similarly punished, though Ianto thought privately that she herself was fully accomplished in such fits. After a quick, covert glance, however, he turned his attention to the man behind her. There were, of course, rumors abounding that addressed all facets of the infamous Captain Jack Harkness’s life. But then again, rumor also said that Hartman was sleeping with her secretary (a perfectly nice girl, really) when Ianto knew for a fact that she and the (married) Head of the Research Department had a standing hotel reservation every Wednesday at four, which they billed as a staff development meeting. 

(Truly, Ianto half-wished that he’d never left the secretarial department; they heard all the best gossip. But Lisa was here, and Ianto had hoped that being in close proximity would help him get the nerve up to do _something._ ) 

But, for once, the rumors had little on the actual truth. 

Jack Harkness was a handsome man, like an early film star. That jaw line alone could probably break hearts at thirty paces. He wasn’t smiling right now, but Ianto had no doubt that the man would be gorgeous if he did—he seemed like one of those unfairly beautiful people who could look amazing while buried neck-deep in muck, if it were so required. 

Ianto found it fairly surprising that he even _noticed_ all of this. When he pined, it was usually to the exclusion of all else.

“I still thank that it would be better if _Doctor Sato_ —” and the way he emphasized her name left little doubt that he thought Sato was eminently more suited to the task than any of Torchwood One’s techs “—takes a look at it. She’s got a lot more experience in time manipulation technology.” 

Hartman gathered herself and opened her mouth—most likely for a fairly witless retort; she wasn’t exactly known for the brilliance of her arguments, especially with Captain Jack Harkness—but before she could so much as utter a word, Harkness made a sharp sound of surprise and looked down. Ianto followed his gaze automatically and couldn’t hold back a wince.

Mielikki blinked up at him with wide, pale blue eyes that made her look innocent even when she most emphatically wasn’t, and said quite calmly, “Your dæmon isn’t with you. She’s not here.”

There was a collective freeze around the lab. Ianto steeled himself for the backlash, even as he mentally rolled his eyes. Dæmons were an extension of people’s souls—and in Ianto’s case, Mielikki was the innate curiosity and unfettered bluntness he’d long since otherwise buried under a polite mask and the occasional bout of sarcasm. Honestly, she’d be the death of him.

Perhaps literally, given the look Hartman and her spider dæmon were sending them. 

But Harkness didn’t fly off the handle at the implication, or flinch away, or even step back from the near taboo of another person’s dæmon addressing him directly. Rather, he looked Mielikki directly in the eyes and answered, “Why do you say that? We could just be Separated.”

Separated, like a witch’s dæmon—able to travel long distances from their human without any of the debilitating side effects. But somehow Ianto didn’t think that was it, even if Harkness looked nothing like the pale, wasted shadows that were those who’d had their dæmons die before them. Which, by process of elimination, meant there must be some other explanation, even if Ianto couldn’t think of it. 

Drawing a careful breath, Ianto pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Mielikki has good instincts,” he said, keeping his voice bland, “even if she isn’t incredibly gifted with _tact_.”

Mielikki pinned her ears back in affront, but didn’t move from her spot at Harkness’s knee. Her gaze didn’t waver. Harkness looked away, though, startled eyes turning to Ianto. Ianto was fairly sure—almost certain—that Harkness had taken one look at him and then either forgotten him or written him off completely once he’d looked away. It was Ianto’s armor, after all—being completely forgettable and equally indispensible, the perfect secretary or butler. He’d always been very good at his job, and might someday even become accustomed to people dismissing him out of hand like they always seemed to. 

At least, the way they seemed to up until they saw Mielikki, who was about as memorable as Ianto could be forgettable, snow leopards being all but exclusively a warrior’s dæmon. The two of them had always been a fairly odd pair, for all that she was his soul. 

But there was no shock or confusion in Harkness’s face at the appearance of a new person. Just faint puzzlement, as though Ianto had revealed something startling but not entirely beyond the bounds of conception. Even as Ianto watched, that cleared up as well, and a quick grin flickered across his strong features. 

“Oh?” he asked, and there was a wealth of meaning in the word. “What about _your_ instincts? What are they telling you?”

Ianto shared a glance with Mielikki, slightly startled. That had been blatant innuendo, if he wasn’t mistaken, stuck in a sentence where innuendo had no place. Looking back at the Captain, he raised one eyebrow and offered, “You're not separated, but your dæmon is also not here. We’ll take option C, ‘ There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. ’”

Harkness laughed at that, bright and very nearly delighted. It shocked Ianto, who’d _never_ had someone look at him the way Harkness was, with _pride_ and _happiness_ and like he’d done something wonderful. He and Mielikki stared at the man, speechless, their eyes equally wide. 

“Perfect,” Harkness said with a grin, turning that bright expression on Hartman. “Send the piece to Cardiff; there’ll be someone waiting tomorrow to meet the courier. And send _him_ while you're at it.” The Captain jerked his thumb at Ianto, who realized suddenly that his jaw was in true danger of dropping. 

“ _What_?” Hartman demanded, very close to a splutter, but Harkness was already sweeping back out into the hall, coat flaring behind him, with a final call of, “Don’t make me get UNIT involved, Hartman; I’d rather they had the device then you.”

Hartman hurried after him in her sensible pumps, yelling. As the door swung shut behind her, Ianto looked down at Mielikki as she slinked back to his side and sighed. 

“Time to clean out our desk again?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Ianto murmured in return. 


	2. Love Looks Not With the Eyes, But With the Mind (And Therefore Is Winged Cupid Painted Blind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the way of such things, the world attempts, with rather admirable persistence, to end on Ianto's first day at Torchwood Three.

In the way of such things, the world attempts, with rather admirable persistence, to end on Ianto’s first day at Torchwood Three. 

Consequently, he and Mielikki have no time for formal introductions or setting up their new desk. They arrive and are immediately flung headlong into the rather convoluted, riotous rush that is Torchwood Three saving the world. Barely an hour after his first step into the Hub, Ianto is busy dodging bullets from fanatical cultists who are convinced the invading alien overlord is their god, running a language translation matrix with Suzie Costello in the backseat while attempting to survive a high-speed chase between the Torchwood SUV and a low-flying spaceship, and finally managing to decode and then avert the aliens’ prophecy-driven invasion. 

It’s a fairly hectic first eighteen hours on the job.

(At one point, pinned down by a group of cultists with submachine guns and very poor aim, but enough enthusiasm to counteract that, Ianto looks over at the pretty tech expert, who had turned out to be the previously mentioned Dr. Sato.

“Is it like this often?” he asks, before leaning around the corner of the warehouse to return fire.

Toshiko _call-me-Tosh_ Sato looks over at him with slightly wide eyes and says, “Um.” Her raccoon dog dæmon seems equally caught out, clinging to her back and peering over her shoulder with a broadsided expression. 

Then the overlord’s honor guard blasts through the row of cars near the parking lot entrance, and the conversation is put on hold until a later time.

Ianto rather thinks he’s gotten his answer, regardless.)

Still, eighteen hours and fifty-eight minutes later, the battered and faintly smoking Torchwood SUV limps back into the garage with all occupants relatively intact. Suzie has a bullet graze on her arm from another shootout, and Ianto sprained his wrist getting away from a pair of cultists who had been determined to bury him in concrete, but otherwise they're unharmed. It’s…surprisingly satisfying, Ianto thinks, despite the utter lack of Torchwood One’s structure. 

Or perhaps because of it.

Mielikki looks at him like she knows what he’s thinking as they all pile out. Ianto pauses for a moment just to breathe, happy that he can and that there's a world in which it’s possible. Working for Torchwood makes one fairly immune to the end of the world, as it occurs on a startlingly regular basis, but there's a good amount of difference between knowing distantly that the field teams are working on it and _helping_ to prevent its end. 

Ianto rather likes this way better, and judging from the rumbling chuff Mielikki gives as she throws her considerable weight against his legs, she agrees. 

Jack staggers over to him and slings a companionable arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently. “So,” he asks cheerfully, “how’d you like you first day at Torchwood Cardiff?”

Despite the lightness, there's an audible sort of tension, a wariness that Ianto is sure comes from being around far too many of Hartman’s cronies. So when he looks up across the bare inch that separates them in height, he makes sure to put all of his sincerity in his face, his gaze, and answers with absolute truthfulness, “Loved it, sir.”

Jack laughs and hugs him a little closer, and Ianto and Mielikki both pretend that it doesn’t send them into a flurry of _I want_ and _I wish_. 

“Good,” the Captain says as the cog door rolls open before them. “That’s very good, Ianto Jones, because we are most definitely keeping you.” There's relief in his eyes, and fondness, and something very much like happiness.

Ianto looks at him and feels the world shift back into place, like a misaligned cog clicking home. _Oh,_ he thinks, and realizes that he could very well fall in love with this man.

It’s not a bad thought.

If anything, it’s _glorious_. 

*.~.*.~.*

(Somewhere else, somewhen else, in a universe well distant from theirs, things go differently. Ianto Jones never catches Captain Jack Harkness’s attention in that bright, sterile laboratory, and everything changes from there.

There is still love, of course, because there is nearly always love between them, but it comes just a little bit too late.

_ ‘Don’t,’  _ Jack tells him, and Ianto’s heart breaks.)

*.~.*.~.*

Leaning on the railing outside his office, Jack watches the newest member of his team. Ianto is bent together with Tosh, two dark heads almost touching as they go over the complex alien language translation matrix Ianto had been able to call up _from memory_.

Jack's impulsive hiring decision is looking better with every minute. 

( _And_ he looks great in a suit; Jack is always one to appreciate a bit of fine eye candy when it’s available.)

The tall snow leopard dæmon slides like a grey-white shadow from under the desk and settles next to Ianto, dropping her wedge-shaped head on his thigh and curling her long, thick tail around her huge paws. Jack has seen those paws and teeth in use now, since dæmons don’t have the same aversion to touching aliens that they do to touching other humans. Mielikki had seen Ianto in danger and reacted just like her wild counterparts would if a cub was threatened—with wild rage and deadly force. And yet, even looking straight at her, Jack finds it hard to recall that exactly. She looks like nothing more than a big, sleepy kitten at the moment, and it’s fairly disconcerting. 

Just like Ianto, Jack thinks, and smiles. The former researcher hides a crack shot under his crisply pressed lines, and has a willingness to dirty his hands that few from Torchwood One ever seem to show. He’s not at all like the rest of the Torchwood London employees Jack's met, in fact—more like Jack himself, so far, than Yvonne Hartman. 

As Jack watches, Ianto’s hand drops down to tug gently on the small, rounded ears, and Mielikki gives a warning chuff and whacks him across the shins with her tail. Ianto chuckles, shoulders shaking for a brief moment as Tosh's dæmon Ranmaru clambers up onto Mielikki’s back. The snow leopard dæmon allows it with an air of weary forbearance, but Ianto seems amused. 

It’s a little surprising that Tosh has opened up to a newcomer so quickly. Jack was half-expecting her to retreat into herself and have to be dragged into socializing. That was what had happened when Jack brought in Owen, but apparently surviving a nasty firefight with the new coworker is a good way to break the ice. Jack files that idea away for future consideration and is about to head back into his office when an inky-black raven flutters to the railing beside him. Suzie is one step behind her dæmon, and she leans next to the Captain, one hand absently stroking over Veremoren’s feathers. Her gaze follows his, and she smiles at the sight of Mielikki, Ranmaru, and Bronwyn, Owen’s black rat dæmon, all in close contact as their humans watch. The three dæmons are tussling lightly, clearly as tired as the humans in the room but far freer in showing their relief at the successful ending to the day. It makes Jack miss Amoria all the more, ache for her weight on his arm again. 

_ Soon _ , he tells himself, carefully not looking back at the hand in the jar on his desk. The Doctor has to stop to refuel at some point, and then they'll be reunited. 

“He’s a good fit,” Suzie says softly, making Jack glance up at her in surprise. She’s still watching the others, though, her eyes clearly on Ianto. “I think he’ll do well here. Better than at One, anyway.”

Jack nods his agreement, linking his fingers in front of him and resting his elbows on the rail. “Good brain,” he offers noncommittally. 

Suzie is his second, though, and knows him too well. She slants him a wry, speaking glance, and says drily, “And a great ass.”

He puts his nose up, making a good show of righteous indignation when they both know he hasn't a metaphorical leg to stand on. “I have no idea what you mean. My intentions were entirely pure.”

The terrifying thing is that it’s mostly true. Jack appreciates the eye candy, could quite happily tumble Ianto into bed and not let him out for days, but that's not the extent of why he brought him in. Anyone who can have a snow leopard dæmon and yet pass absolutely unnoticed is far more than they first seem, and that's the kind of talent the team needs. The rest of them are all overtly strong personalities, even Tosh. Ianto isn’t any less strong, but he’ll balance them. That's Jack's line of thinking, anyway. 

Suzie agrees, if the appreciative glance she’s giving Ianto is anything to go by. Not appreciative of his body—though Suzie’s not blind—but appreciative of his translation matrix and the brain that could call it up in the middle of a stressful situation his very first time in the field. 

“Any more like him that we should try to bring over?” she asks after a moment.

_ To the dark side _ , Jack's ridiculous brain adds silently, but he shakes off the thought and looks down at the handsome Welshman again.

“No,” he says softly. “I get the feeling he’s the only one of his kind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And anyone who can figure out where Suzie's dæmon got her name gets so many cookies. (Because I amuse myself greatly, and want to see if anyone else is similarly amused.)


	3. We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On (Rounded With a Little Sleep)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto and Mielikki are finally settling in at Torchwood Cardiff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um…Ianto? Suzie? Friendship? Idek, guys, okay, but apparently the Suzie in this universe is a little softer. Or Ianto gets to her in time. Or I fail forever at characterization.

When Jack's nightmares are bad, he dreams of the Game Station and Daleks and a white gyrfalcon speckled with silver, swooping through the dim half-light like a small, brilliant moon. Dreams of sending Amoria off, with the Doctor and Rose, to help them get back to the TARDIS. Of gasping back to life, aching and confused, and feeling only the throbbing, tearing _separation_ that cut off as the TARDIS slipped through time once more. 

Dreams of the _pain_ of it, the pain of not having nearly five pounds of featherbrained romantic on his shoulder the way he always had before. 

In the dreams that are especially bad, the nightmares that leave him shaking and nauseous, shaking and unable to sleep for days after, his pillow wet with choked off tears, he sees himself coming back to life when Amoria doesn't.

But she’s still alive, somewhere. He’d know it if she were dead, and she’s not. In some place, some time, she still exists, is doubtless heckling the Doctor and swooping grandly around the TARDIS, utterly at home. And someday, the Doctor will land here to refuel, and Jack will know that, too. He’ll feel her, the separation no longer muted by ages worth of time. They’ll be together again, and after that he’ll never let her out of his sight. Amoria will agree, because for all that she’s free spirited, she’s also unspeakably loyal.

Like Ianto and Mielikki, Jack thinks, watching the quiet Welshman and his dæmon make their way up the stairs. Ianto is carrying a Starbuck’s coffee and a pastry from the bakery across the Plass, and is speaking quietly to Mielikki. The snow leopard looks cheerful and well groomed, the cream and slate and onyx of her coat glowing with health under the bright lights. Ianto looks better, too: he’s put on a little more weight, a little more muscle, and he moves more easily now, no longer hiding quite as much of who he is. Jack doesn't fool himself into thinking that Ianto’s showing all of his colors—the Welshman’s too smart and cautious for that—but it’s certainly more than anyone at the Tower ever saw.

Sometimes, Jack wants to call up Yvonne Hartman and rub her nose in just what she’s lost, show her how incredibly competent and meticulous and _smart_ Ianto is and remind her of how she let it slip right through her fingers. 

That’s petty though, which is why Jack is saving it for a particularly slow day. 

Ianto knocks briefly at the door and enters without waiting for acknowledgement—a bad habit he’s picked up from Suzie, Jack notes, though he doesn't mind. Suzie and Ianto have become surprisingly close, but then, they're far more alike than Suzie and Tosh, and Suzie and Owen have their affair, which isn’t conducive to friendship. Ianto seemed to fit into her cracks once he decided to try, and Mielikki and Veremoren are fond of each other. She’s still sharp and driven and a little distant, but Jack suspects that having someone to talk to who isn’t entirely Torchwood Three helps her quite a bit. 

They can commiserate about Torchwood One’s bureaucracy together, at the very least, since Jack usually leaves such tasks to Suzie, as his second. The less he has to deal with Yvonne Hartman the better. 

Ianto arches a brow at Jack's distracted expression and sets the coffee down on the desk. “Here you are, sir. Black with two sugars.”

Jack hums happily as he takes a sip, because caffeine is the same as blood at Torchwood. “Thanks,” he says, “though I may have to expand the budget if we keep these Starbucks runs up. There used to be an old coffee machine in the kitchen, but I haven’t seen it in years.” 

There's a spark of interest in Ianto’s eyes that Jack is familiar with. It’s the same one he saw when he introduced the Welshman to the chaos that was the Archives. The Archives are now organized within an inch of their lives, and it appears that Ianto Jones has settled on a new project.

“Not that you could find it even if it was still in there.” Ianto tips his head slightly, considering, and then smiles just a bit. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, Jack.”

Yet more proof, Jack thinks, watching appreciatively as he and Mielikki depart, that the “sir” Ianto is so fond of is only used to wind Jack up.

He appreciates that kind of deviousness in a man.

*.~.*.~.*

There is, indeed, a coffee maker in the kitchen, though it’s been buried under a towering pile of junk and debris and what looks suspiciously like every takeout container Owen’s gotten in the past three months. Ianto throws the latter out, separates the useful items from the flotsam, and is generally very grateful that he had the foresight to put on gloves before starting. Mielikki, because she is most assuredly feline, sits at a distance and offers the occasional helpful comment as she washes her paws. 

“This looks suspiciously familiar,” Suzie says dryly, as she and Veremoren enter the kitchen area. “Didn't I just see this scene in the Archives last week?”

Ianto snorts and straightens up from where he’s sorting through broken medical equipment. (He has a suspicion that there's a waste bin somewhere under here that no one’s ever bothered to empty since Jack took over, and eventually overwhelmed a table placed beside it, but it’s an unfounded theory as of yet.) “Mielikki is very good at directing,” he drawls. “Especially when there’s a chance she might get dirty.”

Because she is, at heart, a genuinely descent person, Suzie grabs a pair of gloves and wades in beside him, chucking things into the large trash bags Ianto’s prepared. Veremoren, tellingly, goes to sit with Mielikki.

“Oh yes,” Suzie agrees, arching an eyebrow at her dæmon. “I know _exactly_ how that is.”

Ianto chuckles and rescues a crusted-over mug from Suzie’s over-eager binning. “Thanks for the help.”

Her fingers falter on a Petri dish, and it cracks hard against something else. She tosses it with a wince before looking back at Ianto. “Well, by all rights, we probably should have done this months ago. I've forgotten what was under here, actually. Bad sign.”

It’s a deliberate misunderstanding on Suzie’s part, and Ianto understands; they're neither of them very good with thanks. But right now is not the time to let her turn it away, because Ianto is _happy_ here, and part of it is having someone else not afraid to complain about weirdness and terrible hours and reams of paperwork. Owen just complains about everything, and Tosh seems to think weird is normal, and Jack wouldn't know strange if it pranced naked in front of him, but Suzie and Ianto were both average people once. They were pulled into this life without fully knowing what it entailed, which in Torchwood is the same as never having any choice at all. 

“No,” Ianto says carefully. “ _Thank you_.”

“You're welcome,” Suzie whispers back, like it’s a secret, her hands closing hard around a rusty hammer. There's a long pause, and then she says quickly, “You understand, though. You've got a strange dæmon, and you never talk about your family.”

There are more silences between them than words; Ianto turns away and riffles through a haphazard stack of old receipts. He doesn't talk about his family. At _all_. He still remembers his father’s hands on him, on a broken leg he told Rhiannon was from falling off a swing. 

Because it’s safer than speaking, he casts a glance over at Mielikki and Veremoren. They both look somber, remembering along with their humans. Being a child with a snow leopard dæmon was hard, but it was likely equally hard to be a child with a raven dæmon, a scholar’s dæmon, always expected to be wise and quiet and perfect. When he tries to imagine a bright little girl forced to be all of those things, he can understand why Suzie’s never said anything about her family, either. 

“Yeah,’ he agrees, because it’s the only thing he can do. 

*.~.*.~.*

They don't say anything more, but when Ianto manages to get the coffee machine cleaned up and running, Suzie gets the first cup. They both ignore Jack and Owen’s cries of protest, and share a small, secret smile between them.

“Average” is far too overrated. 


	4. If We Shadows Have Offended (Think But This, and All Is Mended)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torchwood One falls on a Tuesday.

Torchwood One falls on a Tuesday.

The Ghost Shifts are fairly well known, though some attempt has been made to hide them from the other Torchwood branches, because even Yvonne Hartman can't conceal something completely in a building with nearly a thousand people. And everyone sees the ghosts, scattered throughout the city as they are.

Nearly everyone sees the Cybermen when they come, an invasion force like none other the world has ever seen, thick across the continent. 

Eight hundred and twenty-two people die in Torchwood Tower, over half of them partially converted. 

Ianto, arriving battered and bruised from fighting off Cybermen, but drafted nevertheless to help sift through the rubble and recover Torchwood’s alien tech, looks over the smoldering ruins with horror curling in his gut.

_ This could have been us _ , he thinks, curling a hand in Mielikki's ruff as she presses heavily back against his leg. _If we hadn’t gone to Cardiff, this_ would _have been us_.

There’s a soft sound from his left side, a hiss from his right, and suddenly Tosh is curled around his arm, Suzie is pulling him close. Ranmaru folds himself around Mielikki as Veremoren perches on the snow leopard’s head, and a black rat winds between her paws. 

“Oh, God,” Tosh whispers, and her voice is bleak with dread.

“Somehow, I don't think God has anything to do with this,” Owen answers, and his voice is equally bleak as he surveys the lone, small tent set up to help treat the survivors. There are far too few people in it, barely a handful compared to _anything_ , but especially compared to all the people Ianto knows should have been working here today. 

A hand slides between Tosh's full-body press and Suzie’s tight grip, touching Ianto’s shoulder in wordless sympathy. He glances up into Jack's tight-lipped, lined face, for once not boyishly youthful or full of gleeful energy. The Captain looks old, far older than a man in his late thirties has any right to be, and tired. 

“Captain,” he manages after a moment, and is surprised to find that his voice doesn't shake. But then, none of this is real yet. It can't be. Practically everyone Ianto knows works at Torchwood London, in the secretarial department or the Archives or the science departments. On a Tuesday, at midday, they would have all been here. And now…

Now, Ianto wishes more than anything that at least some of them will have skipped out on work, taken an early lunch, fallen sick—anything, _anything_ so long as it means they weren’t here when the invasion started.

It’s a fairly futile hope, as far as such things go, and Ianto is well aware of it. But it’s one of the few things keeping him going right now. Once the reality of what has happened here sinks in, there will be nothing for his mind to do but shut down.

As used to grief as Ianto is, as used to death as Torchwood has made him, this is a disaster on a scale he’s never before witnessed, and it’s incomprehensible. 

And perhaps it’s the same for Jack, but he’s their leader for a reason, and he draws back after a moment, drawing his coat up around himself as though it can shield him from the coming horrors. “All right. Suzie, find the UNIT group in charge of containment and find out what they've done so far. I don't want them leaving with a single piece of Torchwood tech. Tosh, start looking for the Archives—they were built like a bunker, so there might be something still intact. Owen…” His mouth tightens, gaze drifting over the medical tent and its heartbreakingly few occupants. “I don't think there's anything you can do over there. Help Tosh; maybe see what volunteers they're willing to give you from UNIT for the salvage work. Ianto, check the survivors. I want to know who survived.”

His coat snaps on the rising breeze as he turns away, heading for someone who looks official and exhausted in the uniform of someone high up in UNIT. Ianto watches him go for a moment, then looks down at Mielikki. She looks back up at him, pale blue eyes the mirror of his own, and equally filled with sad, resigned determination.

Of all the jobs Jack could have given them, this is perhaps simultaneously the kindest and cruelest.

Nevertheless, Ianto wouldn't want anyone else to do it for him. Couldn't let anyone else, because he knows these people, even if only in a smile-at-them-in-the-hall-in-passing sort of way. 

With a glance at Suzie, Veremoren takes wing and flutters away. Suzie tosses a speaking look after him, but leans in and, in a moment of startling sweetness, presses a quick kiss to Ianto’s cheek. She says nothing, though, turning away to follow her dæmon. Tosh disentangles herself as well, though it’s obviously reluctant, and calls Ranmaru away with a gesture. She and Owen fall into step, huddled just a little closer than normal, as though proximity will protect them from the surrounding horrors. It’s telling, Ianto thinks, that Bronwyn has no compunctions about climbing up on Ranmaru’s back. 

“They're good friends,” Mielikki says quietly, wrapping her tail around Ianto’s ankle. “We’re lucky that…”

She trails off, but Ianto doesn't need her to finish the sentence. He understands, and drops to his knees to bury his face in her ruff. It’s a gesture of weakness that he would otherwise never show, but here, now, he thinks that anyone watching will forgive him. 

“Yes,” he answers into her soft, thick fur. “So very, very lucky.”

*.~.*.~.*

The med tent is well equipped and prepared to hold far more than the seventeen people Ianto can see within. Of those seventeen, six lie prone in the cots, unmoving, while another four are being attended by pale-faced doctors. Of the remaining seven, Ianto sees two he knows distantly, three he knows well, and one he knows very well. 

“Alice,” he says, and there’s a sob of relief building in the back of his throat, harsh and bitter and full of everything he will never bring himself to say.

Yvonne Hartman’s secretary looks up, eyes widening in shock, and then releases a strangled cry and throws herself forward into his arms. Ianto catches her, the same way Mielikki wraps herself around Takurua, Alice’s Tasmanian Devil dæmon. She’s so slight in his arms, bird-boned and fragile, shaking through her sobs. 

“Oh, God, Ianto,” she’s whispering, too fast and too breathy, voice breaking far too often. “I was in the front when the alarms went off. If I’d been up there, if Ms. Hartman hadn’t sent me to courier something to—”

“Shh, shh,” Ianto murmurs back, wrapping his arms all the way around her. “Hush, Alice, you survived and that's all that matters. You got out safely, you’ll be fine.”

It’s a lie, of course, but it’s comforting, and she quiets to nearly noiseless sobs, even though she’s still trembling against his shoulder. Ianto raises his head and offers small, sad smiles to Chandni, Robbie, and Sarah, the other secretaries he knows. It makes sense that more of their department would survive than of others, as the secretaries are often out on errands and their department is on the main floor. 

Chandni sinks down to the floor beside him, cradling her glass lizard dæmon close. “Most of us who got out were near the doors,” she says, and there's something broken in her voice—not shattered, not destroyed, but sharp and vicious and angry, liable to tear and cut and make the ones responsible bleed. “We could hear the alarms, and managed to get outside before—” She breaks off, wordless in the face of overwhelming fury, and Ianto remembers that she had a husband who worked on one of the top floors. They’d only been married a year. 

Sarah puts a hand on the other woman’s shoulder, leaning into her side. She’s pale but composed, viciously so, her grief only visible in the lines around her mouth and eyes. They're young, all of them, Ianto realizes with a sudden start. Not a single person in this tent is over fifty, and only the UNIT doctors are over forty. Torchwood attracts the young and brilliant, and this is the result. Sarah raises her eyes to Ianto’s, and he can see that she knows it, sees it, as well. Her dæmon Eridanus may take the form of a Purple Emperor butterfly, but the two of them are anything but flighty and silly. 

Robbie simply nods, silent and shaken. There's a bandage around his head, and his arm is in a cast. When he sees Ianto’s look, he smiles weakly and explains, “The Tower started coming down around us. Talitha and I got hit by some debris.” The fingers of his good hand are curled tightly in his Irish setter dæmon’s fur, and Talitha has her head wedged under his arm. 

“They were trying to pull Mary out,” Sarah adds, tipping Eridanus from one hand to the other. Ianto can't imagine treating Mielikki like a stress ball, but it seems to calm both of them a little. “She didn't make it, though.” Her voice is flat, unemotional, and if Ianto didn't know her quite as well as he does, he might be startled by her callousness. But Sarah used to be a member of a field team, and short of the world ending there's little that will get through her masks. Even this isn’t enough. 

_ So broken _ , Ianto thinks, staring down at Mielikki and Takurua, still twined together like he is with Alice. _Torchwood has broken us all_. 

“They'll probably offer you Retcon,” he says after a long moment, clearing his throat roughly. “If you need it, if you want it, I hope you take it. If not, I'm here. I’ll do anything you need me to. Just…don't let this break you.” It comes out shattered and so fractured as to scar his throat, but the words are spoken and can't be taken back. Ianto closes his eyes and presses his cheek to the top of Alice’s head, breathing in the smell of ashes and fire and blood and roses. He’s already lost enough today, nearly everyone he knew in London, friends and coworkers and casual acquaintances and _Lisa_ , oh _God_. He hasn't thought of her in so long, and to only do so now—

It hurts. It hurts that it doesn't hurt as much as it should. She’s probably _dead_ , but—

But Ianto never talked to her, not really, never even knew her, and though he hopes—wishes—she’s been spared, it doesn't ache as much as finding out that Mary’s dead, that Tim won't be playing any more practical jokes on anyone, that Amy and Lori and Michael and Mark will never work out their strange love rectangle, that the woman in the lobby café— _mother of three,_ Ianto remembers, _single, oh_ God—will never see her children again. 

There's too much grief here, too many things to mourn. Ianto closes his eyes and holds Alice tight, breathes for her and the others and himself just a little, and hopes that there's nothing more left in his chest to crumble. 

It’s a vain hope, useless and groundless and not nearly enough, but he keeps hoping anyway, even as his mental list of the dead grows longer and longer. 

Sometimes, over the hours, the list feels like it will never end.

*.~.*.~.*

There's another reason for sending everyone away, Jack acknowledges. There's a part of him that has been dead or dormant for nearly two hundred years that's finally burst back to life, sweet and warm in his chest even as it twists and pulls and _aches_. 

Amoria is here somewhere, and she’s looking for him.

Jack staggers over another pile of rubble in what was once a science lab, but is now a metallic grave for the partially converted. He’s turned off the power to this floor, stopped their breathing in the kindest way he could, but the sight still makes him want to retch. Cybermen, here, on this Earth—it’s another nightmare come to life, tempered only by the wild, anticipatory beating of his heart as he falls around another corner. He’s going too fast, not being nearly careful enough—the Cybermen converted from Torchwood One employees are still here, still dangerous—but he can't bring himself to care because _she’s here_ and there's nothing in the world that will keep them apart any longer. 

And then she really is there, dropping from the ripped-open ceiling like a feathered ghost, so pale in the smoky air, so big and fearsome and beautiful beyond all compare.

_ Amoria _ .

She hits him like a bowling ball, like a feathery projectile thrown from a great height, and Jack wraps her in his arms with a cry of relief and anguish and joy, because it’s not like regaining a lost limb, it’s like _being whole again_ when he’s spent nearly two centuries in pieces scattered across the whole of time and space. It’s an awkward hug, because Amoria is big and her wings are everywhere and her claws are too sharp and she’s not _nearly_ careful enough with her beak, but Jack is so far beyond caring about anything except her touch that it doesn't even register. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Amoria whispers to him, sharp and pained and so very, very sweet. “We tried to come back, he tried to bring me back, but the TARDIS wouldn't come. We're a fixed point and she needs time to adjust, but when she landed here I left and hoped I could find you on my own and—”

“Shh,” Jack tells her, cradling her in the crook of his arm the way he hasn't since Grey was taken. “Shh, Ria, it’s fine, you're fine, I'm here and I'm never letting you go again. Not again.”

And, even in the ruins of Torchwood One, standing in a graveyard and with the bodies of more than eight hundred people below him, Jack still means it. 

It’s fine, and it will be from now on.


	5. All the Souls That Were (Were Forfeit Once)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Battle of Canary Wharf, Torchwood Three attempts to pick up the pieces. But something has changed, and for the better. (At least, that's what Mielikki seems to think.)

The sun sets, rises, and sets again before Jack finally calls for them to stop over the comms.

“That's enough for now,” he says, and he sounds as exhausted as Ianto feels, but there's something… _calm_ about his voice now, grounded. Jack will always be one for brilliance and courage in unexpected places, places where it is unlooked for but necessary for survival, but Ianto’s never really looked at him as a steady beacon.

Now, though, it seems something has changed.

Ianto trades glances with Mielikki, who is crouched beside him, just as battered and filthy as he is, because this is one task she won't shirk from. Then he lets out a slow, heavy breath and taps his comm. “All right, Jack. We’ll be back at the SUV in about five minutes. Should I make hotel reservations?”

There's a startled, fairly sheepish pause that says Jack forgot all about that, and despite himself Ianto chuckles. As much as things change, it’s nice to know some things never will, and Captain Jack Harkness overlooking the small details is one of them.

“Sure, Ianto,” Jack answers, and Ianto can hear the smile in his voice. “Nicest you can find. I think our budget just went up.”

Suzie snorts over the channel, and Veremoren lets out an amused caw. “God, Jack, that's mercenary. But true. I doubt these sorry bastards are going to be needing it.”

“You never know, those good burial plots are costly,” Ianto offers, and _God_ , they shouldn't be joking about this, making light of it, but he’s tired. The whole team is tired. They've all been working for over thirty-six hours, and everything is either funny or tragic right now. There's far too much tragedy to be hand anyway, so they might as well laugh, right? “Especially ones with all those cyber hook-ups. Rather steep, I’d think.”

Owen’s laughter is strangled, but amused. “Oi, coffee boy, thought we were supposed to respect the dead.”

“I do,” Ianto shoots back, picking his way through the barely-cleared rubble that was once the Secondary Archives with Mielikki hopping disgustedly alongside him. “My only thought is for the comfort of the recently converted on their way into the afterlife.”

“Enough, you two.” Jack sounds amused. “Ianto, status of the Secondary Archives? Is there anything worth salvaging?”

“If you like scrap metal, sir, lots of things. If you were aiming for some more intact pieces, you’d be out of luck. There might be a couple of items in the secure lockup that survived, but I wouldn't wager my pay on it.”

“Suzie, the Main Archives?”

“Well, there are definitely whole alien artefacts down here. It’ll take days to sort through it all.” She huffs, and there's a sharp clank, as though she just kicked something metallic away from her.

“Good, but don't bother with sorting it,” Jack orders. “Just box it up and get it shipped back to Cardiff. Tosh, how are the computer labs looking?”

“Uh, crispy.”

“Anything salvageable?”

Owen cuts in with a snort. “When Tosh says ‘crispy,’ she means ‘melted into a puddle of goo,’ Harkness. I’d like to see _anyone_ able to so much as a response out of this scrap heap.”

“He’s right, Jack.” Tosh sounds apologetic. “I can't do anything here.”

Ianto rounds another heap of rubble and finds himself in front of the SUV. His laptop is in the back, and he opens it quickly, calling up the hotel search he’d started on the way there. Mielikki leans against his leg, and he drops a comforting hand between her ears—though whether for his comfort or hers, he can't say. “I can try to access One’s Mainframe,” he offers. “I had clearance, and my codes still work. Even if everything else is fried, she should still be operational.”

Jack staggers around the edge of the horrendously empty medical tent, nodding his head as soon as he’s in view. “Good, but let’s save that for tomorrow. Got those rooms booked?”

But Ianto isn’t listening anymore, and Mielikki, who would normally nudge him back to awareness, isn’t either. They both stare at the huge white gyrfalcon perched on Jack's shoulder, heavy enough to make him list a little to one side as he walks. Ianto has never seen a more beautiful bird than this one, who’s a silver-speckled snowy white with sharp orange eyes like a harvest moon.

Mielikki chirrups softly, in a way Ianto hasn't heard her do since he was thirteen and desperately in love with Dai down the street, and pads forward. She has her head raised, as if scenting the air, but her face is full of an easy curiosity Ianto feels echoed in himself. Jack stops several paces away, and the gyrfalcon on his shoulder looks down, then gives a gentle warble and leaps, wings outspread, to land in front of the snow leopard. The two dæmons regard each other for a long moment, and Ianto holds his breath, wondering what the reaction will be.

Then, with a chuff, Mielikki flops down in the dirt and ashes, tail twitching, and says, “I'm Mielikki. You're not as mysterious as I thought you would be.”

Jack chokes on a laugh, and Ianto rolls his eyes and covers his face with a hand. Of course those would be the first words out of Mielikki’s mouth. They had talked about Jack's dæmon before, of course, speculated as to what he or she might be, but Ianto hadn’t expected her to just blurt that out. Though, in hindsight, he probably should have known better.

The gyrfalcon seems just as amused, but hunkers down in front of her anyway. “I'm Amoria, and what were you expecting, a black lion or something?”

“Well,” Mielikki sniffed, “that would certainly have been dramatic.”

“Oh, god,” Ianto mutters. “Mielikki, you're never allowed to speak again. Ever, do you hear me?”

Jack finally gives up on holding himself back and laughs, slinging an arm around Ianto’s shoulders and grinning at him. “More mysterious and dramatic, huh?” he asks wickedly. “Should I be insulted or flattered?”

Mielikki opens her mouth as though to respond, but Ianto cuts her off a little desperately. “Jack, where did your dæmon come from? I thought you weren’t Separated.”

The mirth fades from Jack's face, leaving behind something like fondness. “Apparently, when a person and their dæmon are separated by time, it doesn't have the same effects. Amoria finally managed to find her way back to me, though.”

It’s not incredibly difficult to put the pieces together from there. Ianto’s been hearing UNIT talk about the Doctor saving the day, and it’s common knowledge that the Doctor has a time machine. Extrapolating from there, Jack was most likely a Companion, and somehow Amoria remained with the Doctor while Jack was left in a different time.

“Ah,” Ianto says, turning to look down at Mielikki. She looks back up at him, pale blue eyes the mirror of his own, and equally filled with quiet concern.

Words aren’t necessary.

With a low growl, she heaves herself to her feet and nudges Amoria gently. “You're getting your feathers all dirty,” she points out, and even though it sounds like exasperation, there's fondness buried under the masking edge. “Budge up. You can sit on my back if you want to stay clean.”

Jack is watching him, Ianto knows. This easy acceptance of his dæmon’s reappearance has thrown the Captain, unbalanced him, because as much as he tries to bring out the best in people, he still braces himself for the worst. Ianto hates that, because Jack of all people should only ever have faith in humanity. He meets the other man’s gaze and smiles, quick and careful, and asks, “I was thinking Suzie and Tosh could share a room, sir, and we could either share or one of us could bunk with Owen. More funds left for that system overhaul Tosh has been dreaming about.”

 _Just to sleep,_ he wants to say. _I'm not ready to take it any further than that, not yet, but right now all I want is for someone to hold me, and you look like you need the same._

Jack stares for another moment, almost as if he can read Ianto’s mind, and then smiles in return. It's weary, and a little wary, but mostly just grateful.

“All right,” he agrees softly, and his eyes are warm.

They both pretend not to watch as Amoria smugly settles herself on Mielikki's back, holding on to the snow leopard’s ruff and looking very much as though she’s always been there.


	6. The Quality of Mercy Is Not Strain’d (It Droppeth As the Gentle Rain From Heaven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things at Torchwood are progressing (and not just the case).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do dæmons eat? I guess in my universe they do. (Yeah, like that's the main point of the story…) Anyway, the case part of this fic will continue in the next installment. Maybe. (This here is the part where I start jumping around in the timeline, i.e. why I consider them all one-shots and not a chaptered story.)

It’s pouring down rain, water flowing thick and fast in the gutters and pooling in the streets, turning traffic lanes into ankle-deep rivers. Mielikki is miserable, ears pinned flat to her skull and tail tucked tight to her body, and Ianto isn’t far behind. He turns his coat collar up, hunches down in the thick, weather-treated wool that is nevertheless vastly inappropriate for the conditions, and tries to think dry thoughts.

They've never very much liked rain, either of them.

Police lights give the scene an unearthly glow as Suzie and Veremoren—seemingly above the notice of such base, inconvenient things as _rain_ —lean over the sprawled body, taking readings. Tosh hovers at Suzie’s elbow, bundled up tightly in a raincoat with Ranmaru tucked underneath it, and Owen is griping and snarling behind her, only a little less unhappy than Ianto and Mielikki. Bronwyn is huddled deep within his pocket, only the tips of her whiskers showing when she’s feeling particularly adventurous.

Ianto watches them all and feels the misery spread. He very, very much hates rain.

The corpse they're investigating, which has been decapitated and had all its limbs removed, doesn't do much to brighten the scene.

“Ianto!” Tosh calls, and he looks up to see her clomping towards him through the puddles. Her coat is hanging open, a flash of her gun visible, and he straightens. Something’s unnerved her.

“Yes?” he asks as she approaches. “You know what did this?”

She shakes her head, gripping Ranmaru a little more tightly to her side. “Something is interfering with the equipment, making it seem like he’s got human _and_ alien DNA. We’ll take him back to the Hub and see what we can do there.”

Ianto turns to watch Suzie and Owen roll the partly dismembered corpse into a body bag, and frowns a little. “Are you sure it’s the equipment?” he asks slowly.

Tosh shoots him a startled glance, but before she can speak, Jack is striding up to them, trying to look stern and only managing rather damp, Amoria a bedraggled clump of feathers hunkered down on his shoulder.

“Got something?” he asks, raising a brow at Ianto.

With a faint shrug, Ianto crouches down to rub Mielikki's chin. “Maybe,” he murmurs, a little reluctantly—he’s still not entirely used to the idea that he can speak his mind and, unlike at One, people who matter will actually _listen_. “Occam’s razor applies even here. What if it’s not the instruments? What if the body really _does_ have both kinds of DNA?”

Jack blows out a short, hard breath and rakes one hand through his soaked hair, which the rain has turned from dark sand to chocolate. “Then we have a much bigger problem on our hands than I thought.” He sounds grim. “Ianto, get the locals cleared away, but keep them happy, and make sure they'll call us if they find anything else like this. Tosh, check the CCTV cameras around this spot. I know none of them look at it directly, but I want to know who dumped him here.”

Tosh nods, heading for the SUV and her laptop. Ianto sighs and futilely tugs his collar up a bit more. He glares at the sky, full of heavy clouds that don't look to be lightening any time in the near future, and then drops his gaze back to Jack, who’s looking at him with amusement.

“Right,” he says in resignation. “I’ll meet you back at the Hub, and pick up lunch on my way. Any preferences?”

Jack shakes his head, dropping a hand on his shoulder and giving a brief squeeze. “No,” he says, and it sounds fond. “Will you be okay getting back? It’s a long wait for a bus.”

“Who said anything about a bus?” Ianto asks, vastly amused, though he does make some attempt to hide it. “Just because the entire police force hates you with a passion doesn't mean they hate _all_ of us. Detective Swanson is a perfectly lovely woman, and I'm sure she’ll give me a lift if I ask nicely.”

The narrow-eyed glare he gets in return is well worth the tease. “Ianto,” Jack warns.

Ianto chuckles and leans forward to press a soft, watery kiss to Jack's cheek. This thing between them is fairly new, and they've yet to actually do anything about it—the closest they've come is sleeping in the same bed after the Canary Wharf cleanup, with Owen in a twin bed across from them (the hotel had been short on rooms). But Ianto is hardly going to find anyone _else_ when he’s got Captain Jack Harkness in all his brilliant, eccentric glory in his line of sight.

“We've had coffee to discuss cases,” he assures Jack. “That's the extent of it, I promise.”

He doesn't mention that Kathy Swanson had once expressed an interest in more—dinner at the very least—and that Ianto had turned her down flat, unable to consider anything but hard muscles and big hands, bright blue eyes and a warm, crooked grin.

Jack's ego doesn't need any more inflating.

*.~.*.~.*

By the time he and Mielikki get back to the Hub, the rain still hasn't let up, but he’s loaded down with Chinese takeout that smells divine, and he’s got a promise from Detective Swanson to call immediately if anything similar comes up, or one of the body’s missing pieces is found.

Suzie comes to help him with the bags, Veremoren perched on her shoulder. She looks tired, which isn’t unusual—all of Torchwood is prone to insomnia, it seems, and Suzie has a habit of getting lost in her projects—but there are lines of tension around her eyes that shouldn't be there. Ianto watches her lay out the food in the conference room and makes a mental note to corner her as soon as possible. For being second in command and taking on the vast majority of the team’s troubles, Suzie always forgets that it goes both ways, and that she can share her own.

Drawn by the smell of food, the rest of the team trickles up the stairs, collapsing into their seats with clear relief. Ianto serves coffee before taking his seat, and for a short while the only sound is chewing.

Then, with a sigh, Jack pushes his empty takeout box away and sets his hands flat on the tabletop. “So. What do we have?” Amoria, on the back of his chair, resettles her wings and stares around the room with sharp orange eyes.

“It wasn't the scanners malfunctioning at the site,” Owen says, cradling his mug in both hands and scowling down into. “The bastard’s DNA is wonky, some mix of human and at least four different aliens that I can make out. I'm trying to sort through the rest of it, but it's like playing bloody pickup sticks in the dark.”

“There's no way to make an ID, either,” Tosh puts in. “No face, so no facial recognition, and no hands, so no fingerprint match.”

“I've started looking through the missing persons files for anyone who matches his statistics, but it’s hardly going to be exact that way.” Suzie’s eyes are narrowed, as though the imprecision is an affront to her personally.

Ianto looks up from his lemon chicken with a frown, Mielikki taking the opportunity to steal the piece he’d been eating from between his chopsticks. “Sounds deliberate,” he remarks after a moment. “Someone’s trying to keep us from finding out who he is.”

Jack's mouth turns down a little, expression grim and thoughtful. “It does, and it’s a bit too convenient for whoever—or whatever—dropped him there to write off as a coincidence. Owen, how soon will you be able to sort out the human DNA enough to run an ID search that way?”

Casting a lingering, longing glance at the clock, Owen sighs and drains his mug, pushing to his feet. “At this rate, starting right now, and if I don't hit any more snags? Six hours. Maybe sooner, with enough coffee. And I’ll have you know that's six hours I could be using to get pissed and shag some hot blond.”

Ianto rolls his eyes, batting Mielikki away from more of his food. “Of course, Owen,” he mutters, “because there's no way anyone would have turned you down when you look like you've been locked in an underground bunker for the past week.”

Owen glares at the reminder of their last case, when he and Suzie had been kidnapped damsel-style by the alien tech traffickers they’d been following, and shut up in an old bomb shelter together for seven days. Ianto considers it the major reason their affair seems to have fallen apart.

“Shut it, tea boy,” he snaps. “At least I wasn't spending all that time sucking the Captain’s—”

“Hey, enough,” Jack cuts in. “Owen, I want those results. Suzie, Tosh, keep looking and see if you can't find it faster. Ianto, anything else like this in the Archives?”

“I’ll look, sir.” Ianto slides his chicken over to Ranmaru, who seizes it happily, and he and Mielikki stand. “As far as I remember, there isn’t, but I’ll check London’s Mainframe as well. There might be something there I didn't have the clearance to see before.”

Surprisingly, Suzie falls into step beside him as they make their way out the door, Veremoren swooping ahead of them. Ianto glances at her, but keeps his peace until they reach the main floor. The raven dæmon settles on Suzie’s chair, ruffling his feathers.

Suzie looks at her dæmon, takes a short breath, and then says without embellishment, “My father’s dying.”

Ianto stops beside her, tilting his head to acknowledge her words. There's nothing he can really say, but he understands better than most what kind of position she’s in. There's the urge to go and see him, to play the dutiful child, but there's also the hatred, seething and thick, that whispers, _“good, it’s what he deserves, the bastard will finally just_ die _.”_

After a long moment of silence, he murmurs, “I never went. When my father was dying, I mean.”

Suzie looks at him, dark eyes something close to desperate, her pretty face all sharp angles and high cheekbones and wild dark curls. “Do you regret it?” she asks.

That’s one question Ianto will never have to think about. He meets her gaze and answers flatly, “Not one bit.”

She smiles at that, just a bit, and it’s weak and trembling but still a smile. Ianto reaches out and gently catches her wrist in his hand. “I have some very good scotch and a fairly large movie collection, when this is all over,” he offers tentatively. “It doesn't solve anything, but—”

“A couple of drinks and movies with a friend?” Suzie cuts him off, and this time her smile is a bit stronger, even if her eyes are still sad and uncertain. “That sounds like it will solve everything.”

She doesn't say thank you. Ianto wouldn't want her to.


	7. Cry Havoc (And Let Slip the Dogs of War)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ianto thinks. Mielikki is the bravest part of him, without a doubt.

Sometimes, Ianto thinks that walking around with Mielikki beside him is the bravest thing he's ever done.

Other times, he knows it is.

It's hardly surprising, this. She's his dæmon, his soul stripped down to its component parts for the world to see, and that means he can never hide the core of who and what he is. It's already on display, _always_ on display, laid bare and ripped open for all the world to see. She will never not be a part of him, and he'll never not be a part of her, and people will always, always look at them and think that they know them, just because Mielikki is huge and beautiful and fearsome.

Ianto has never wished for Mielikki to be something other than what she is. He can't, because she's _Mielikki_ and she's _his_ and she's _him_. She is everything of him, all of him, and that will never change.

When he was a child, before Mielikki settled (as early as that was), they had thought she would be a cat, a pretty Siamese with seal-brown points and pale blue eyes, or an iridescent cormorant, able to rise so high above the waves.

(The never thought she would be a dog, like most dæmons in their family, or a small and harmless bird, like all the rest.)

And then Ianto had caught his father in a particularly bad mood, just a week after his leg had come out of its cast from the last time. It was the first time Ianto had ever thought he was truly, literally going to die, that he realized his father was very, very capable of killing him before he stopped himself, and that Ianto's life was actually in danger.

 _I don't want to die,_ he had thought, turning to face his father with all the courage in his body—small, smaller and skinnier than most boys, and that was quite probably one of the causes of his father's rage.

 _I won't let it end like this,_ he had thought, and Mielikki had risen from her crouch at his feet as a terrified and hissing Siamese and stepped forward as a huge, snarling snow leopard.

Something had _clicked_ , _shifted_ , and Ianto had put a hand on her back, all of ten years old, and stared his father down.

* * *

They had mostly left, after that—never home for longer than a few hours, and when they were, far out of the way of anyone.

Ianto has never lied when he says he knows everything about the city. Every inch of it was his, was theirs, all the back streets and shadowy corners, all the bridges and corners and wary men and women with sharp and careful eyes, the forests and parks and open fields within a day's travel.

But he'd never been alone, for all of that. Mielikki had been beside him every moment of it, his soul and his heart and his conscience, just _him_.

* * *

Yes, Ianto thinks, looking down at the dæmon curled around his feet, chuffing softly to herself as she cleans her paw.

Mielikki is the bravest part of him, without a doubt.

* * *

The rain doesn't seem to be in any hurry to lighten any time soon, which does little for the Cardiff's ambiance and less for Ianto's mood. Mielikki has been growling softly in her throat for the past six blocks, head low and tail slowly, emphatically lashing, and Ianto rather wants to do the same.

It doesn't help that Suzie keeps casting amused glances at them out of the corner of her eye, or that Veremoren is hunkered down on her shoulder, cackling at them every other stride or so.

Ianto takes a moment to consult the list of names he's carrying, squinting against the downpour, and then sighs. They've only crossed off six names, which leaves an unfortunate amount of possibilities to go, as far as the identity of their corpse is concerned.

"You and Jack looked cozy earlier," Suzie says suddenly.

With a wary glance in her direction, Ianto re-folds the list and tucks it into his pocket. "Yes," he agrees after a moment. "Jack is…"

But that's the problem with Jack; he's the kind of person that no words can ever really describe, and Ianto flounders for a moment, trying to find some way to voice what he's feeling.

A slim hand settles on his shoulder, and Suzie smiles at him, one of her lovely, careful, near-shy smiles that Ianto sees all too rarely. Veremoren hops down to Mielikki's back and settles there, spreading his wings a little as if to shield her from the rain.

"It's good," Suzie offers gently. "But if he breaks your heart, I reserve the right to kneecap him."

Ianto laughs, putting a hand over hers. "Straight to the kneecapping, then? No 'you'll be good for each other'?"

Suzie lets go with a quick squeeze. Her expression is one part amused and one part offended. "You think I'd be that trite, Ianto?"

There's an answer on the tip of Ianto's tongue, a retort to make Suzie laugh, but a flash of movement catches his eye from the side. Mielikki sees it, too, a growl bursting in her throat as they both spin, Ianto shoving Suzie back towards the road.

The blur of movement that collides right with Ianto isn't a surprise, insomuch as nothing related to Torchwood is a surprise anymore.

(The pain is, though.)

Mielikki wails, a snow leopard's eerie shriek tearing through the muffled quiet of the rain, but all Ianto can see are flat reptilian eyes, and then nothing at all.

* * *

"John Christian," is the first thing Suzie says when Jack picks up the phone.

Frowning, Jack straightens in his chair. There's a wavering, hysterical note that he's never heard in Suzie's voice before. "What?" he asks carefully, trading glances with Amoria.

Suzie sucks in a shaking breath, and there's a sound as though she's wiping her face. _Rain,_ Jack reminds himself, shoving down the instinctual thrill of fear. _It's not necessarily tears when there's so much rain._

The thought doesn't help at all.

"John Christian," Suzie repeats. "He was one of the candidates for our body's identity, but it's not him. He's alive, and he's not human. He took Ianto, but I recognized him before he vanished."

The small twist of fear tightens into a knot, huge and choking, and Jack sucks in a sharp breath. "Where are you?"

She rattles off the coordinates, then signs off. Jack throws himself to his feet, grabbing his coat from the stand as he goes. Amoria swoops behind him, white wings spread wide as she hurtles over his head. "Situation," he calls as he clatters down the stairs. "Owen, with me. We're going to pick up Suzie. Tosh, I want you locked on to Ianto's cell phone. Get me the location, and everything there is about John Christian, from the ID list."

By the time he stops speaking, Owen is already up and moving, settling his gun and grabbing his field kit. Jack spares a moment to thank whatever deities are listening for his team, who always manage to pull together and create miracles, no matter their problems with each other.

"Let's go," he says, and heads for the garage with Owen a step behind him.

* * *

Ianto opens his eyes to bright lights, and far too much clinical whiteness for the comfort of his aching head. He shuts his eyes again just as quickly, focusing on sounds until the pounding in his skull diminishes from "jackhammer" to a more manageable "sledgehammer."

But there are no sounds. There's nothing at all.

Mielikki chuffs softly, pressing into his side, and Ianto curls his fingers into her thick fur, keeping his breathing even until she whispers, "We're alone," in his ear.

Ianto sits up. He's in a cell, white and sterile, with no windows and one reinforced door. The cot beneath his is hardy worthy of the name, but there's nothing else.

He's alone.

With a soft, plaintive mew, Mielikki curls into his side, and despite himself, Ianto manages a small smile as he buries his face in her ruff.

No.

Not alone.

He's never alone.

* * *

He's also not helpless, Ianto thinks. Neither of them is. And they've had a lifetime to prove it to themselves, if no one else.

The door swings open without a sound, and Ianto lets go of Mielikki's ruff. She surges forward, a cream-and-slate blur with many teeth, and slams bodily into the chimpanzee dæmon at the door.

Ianto, a step behind her and to the side, throws a punch the way he learned on the streets—hard and sudden, and supplemented by a knee to the groin. The man in the lab coat goes down in a heavy heap, his dæmon landing next to him in a mound of fur, and Ianto and Mielikki turn and slip out the door as one, closing it behind them.

Curling his fingers into her fur again, Ianto lets out a slow breath and surveys their surroundings.

They haven't been helpless since Mielikki settled, fourteen years ago. They're certainly not about to start now.


	8. Come What Sorrow Can (It Cannot Countervail the Exchange of Joy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Jack can't tell whether he's running an elite, clandestine team of alien-hunters or overseeing a kindergarten classroom.

The signal from Ianto's cell phone, when Tosh traces it, comes from a nondescript building in the north part of the city, fifteen stories of grey boredom that could be anything from a legal office to a medical testing facility. There are no guards at the front door, only a doorman with a starling dæmon, who gives Jack, Owen, and Suzie a startled look that swiftly turns to terror as they rush by with guns drawn.

Amoria drops from Jack's shoulder to swoop ahead around the corners as the three humans slow, cautiously entering the first hallway. Owen jerks his chin at the elevator in silent query, but Suzie shakes her head, pointing towards the stairwell at the far end.

"Tosh?" Jack asks softly into the comm as they slip through the door. "What floor are we looking for?"

"Fifth," Tosh answers promptly. "The cell signal is coming from a room in the middle of the building, probably storage, and there's a security station just before it. I'm hacking their systems now, but it might be faster for you to take out whatever guards are there."

Jack doesn't bother to acknowledge as they burst out of the stairwell, surprising a pair of white-coated doctor types carrying trash bags. The man yelps and drops his burden, and it spills to the ground.

A severed arm tumbles out.

Pure instinct has Jack moving before he realizes it, slamming the butt of his gun into the man's head as Amoria plummets talons-first at his ferret dæmon. The woman tries to run, but Suzie knocks her down with a sweeping kick, and Veremoren snatches up her tarantula dæmon with a victorious caw. In another moment, Suzie has the woman pinned with her arms behind her back.

"John Christian," she demands. "We know he's working for you. Where is he? Where's the man he took?"

"I don't know!" the woman protests, but her eyes are fixed on her dæmon, twisting in Veremoren's claws. "Please, put him down! Don't hurt him!"

She tries to knock Suzie off of her back, tries to get away and grab her dæmon, but Suzie's good at her job. She shoves the woman back down and hisses, " _Where?_ "

"Cell 24!" The scientist gives in with a sob. "The Torchwood agent is in Cell 24, and Sergeant Christian is in Cell 16. Now please, let Maitland go!"

Veremoren drops the spider with a vicious hiss that sounds oddly similar to Suzie's, and swoops back to her shoulder. The tarantula dæmon scuttles back to the scientist as Suzie releases her, and she scoops him up desperately, clutching him to her chest. As soon as she has a hold of him, she stumbles to her feet and away, casting fearful glances back at them.

Jack watches her go, feeling something cold twist in his gut. Sergeant. The man who took Ianto is a sergeant, and Suzie had said that he wasn't entirely human.

Two and two make four, but this once, Jack's wishing he could have come up with pi.

Taking a careful breath, he taps the comm and orders, "Tosh, get UNIT on the phone and tell them that there's unauthorized alien genetics enhancement going on here. I want this place shut down. Go all the way to the Brigadier if you have to, but get it done."

"On it," Tosh answers grimly, the click of keys in the background.

Owen straightens from checking the dropped limbs, his face grim. "Male, Caucasian, late twenties, time of death around thirty-six hours ago," he reports grimly. "From our corpse, no doubt."

"No doubt," a dry voice agrees, and the three of them jerk around to find Ianto leaning casually against a doorway down the hall, Mielikki sprawled carelessly at his feet. His normally neat suit looks a bit worse for wear, but the rest of him seems fine, and he's coolly at ease.

"Ianto," Jack whispers, and the rush of relief is akin to dying and coming back. He slumps a little, even as Suzie strides past him to slap Ianto in the back of the head.

"Ow!" he protests, ducking away from a second blow. "Suzie, stop it, what did I do?"

"You couldn't have _called_ us?" she demands sharply, then grabs his arm and drags him into a quick, hard hug. "You bastard, Ianto, I was worried. How did you get away?"

His expression softening, Ianto hugs her back, though his eyes meet Jack's over her shoulder. "They're scientists, not soldiers," he says gently, "and they didn't expect us to fight back, I think. Even the guards weren't expecting it. As soon as we got out I found the security booth and shut down the cameras, but you got here before I could find a phone."

Mielikki chirrups at Veremoren, who hisses at her, but nevertheless hops off Suzie's shoulder to sit at the snow leopard's paws. He leaves her back clear for Amoria, who settles there with an air of entitlement that makes Jack want to roll his eyes. He knows how she feels, though, so he steps past Suzie and kisses Ianto right there in the hallway, for everyone to see.

It's not the most romantic timing. Ianto has a knot on the back of his skull, and adrenaline is still pounding through Jack's blood. They're in a lab that's been performing illegal genetics experiments on men who probably have no idea what's happening to them, and which have already killed at least one person. Ianto tastes of fear and nerves and it's a little awkward, a little unfamiliar, teeth bumping and noses in the way and the smell of antiseptic a little too strong around them.

But Jack kisses Ianto, and Ianto kisses back, and it's _perfect_.

* * *

This is more UNIT's area than theirs, so the Torchwood team leaves them to it, retreating to the SUV as the building is swept and the captured scientists are marched out. Ianto leans against the bonnet with Suzie on one side and Jack on the other, and Owen scowling at the scientists as though mortally offended.

"Combining human and alien DNA," the doctor says in disgust, "and they didn't think there would be any side effects? They didn't think the poor bastards' own cells would rip them apart? Bloody fucking _butchers_."

Even after nearly six months at Torchwood, it's still a surprise to witness just how highly Owen still holds his medical oaths.

Ianto shifts a little, pressing his shoulder against Jack's in a movement that could be entirely casual, if only his heart would stop racing. He stomps on the urge to trace his fingers over his lips, and says, "And then keeping the poor bastards as science experiments—it's like Hartman all over again."

Jack's hand smoothes over his shoulder, hot and so very _there_ that for a moment Ianto can't think of anything else. "Yeah," the Captain says wearily. "The lengths to which armies go for power will never cease to surprise me." His other hand is stroking over Amoria's feathers, an unconscious gesture, and his eyes are distantly sad.

"Dinner," Suzie says suddenly, making all of them glance over at her. She raises an eyebrow at them, the gesture somehow regal, and swings open the rear passenger-side door for Veremoren. "I want dinner, and not just cheap takeaway. You're springing for Greek, Jack."

"I am?" Jack asks, all dry amusement, but he's already heading for the driver's seat.

Owen looks back and forth between the team leaders, then rolls his eyes and follows Jack around the SUV, dropping Bronwyn onto his shoulder as he goes. "Why Greek?" he demands. "That Moroccan place—"

"Has received about twelve health code violations in the past year," Ianto cuts in, sliding into the passenger seat. Mielikki bounds in after him, sprawling out on top of his feet. "Only you ever eat there. Now that I think of it, that might explain a few—"

"Oh, can it, tea boy, nobody's interested. Just because you're an uptight, anal—"

"Oh, yes, because everyone else _wants_ to die of food poisoning, and I'm just ruining it for—"

"You are, so shut up and—"

"Owen, I'm the second in command, and I say Greek. Piss off, you can kill yourself with Moroccan on your own time."

"Abuse of authority, that's what that's called, and what if I had said I wanted Indian, what would you have—"

"She would still have told you to shut up, and Owen, you hate Indian."

"Piss off, tea boy, I'm making a _point_ —"

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell."

Jack rolls his eyes as he shifts the car into gear. Sometimes he can't tell whether he's running an elite, clandestine team of alien-hunters or overseeing a kindergarten classroom.

But Ianto's hand finds his between the seats, just a quick, light brush of skin on skin, and the warmth that rises like a tide inside of Jack is a shock. He risks a glance at the Welshman as he pulls out into traffic, and even though Ianto isn't looking at him, there's a faint smile on his lips as the three of them bicker.

Jack turns his eyes back to the road, unable to fight his own smile.

Yeah, okay.

This could be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me about the meanings of the names I chose for the dæmons, and it makes me deliriously happy to share my geeky, rambling thought process here. So:
> 
> Owen's dæmon: "Bronwyn" is an alternate spelling for the name of a Welsh goddess of Love and Beauty, like Aphrodite, who also doubles as a goddess of healing. As rats are so often used in medical testing, I felt it was appropriate.
> 
> Suzie's dæmon: "Veremoren" is an anagram of 'nevermore', after Edgar Allan Poe's poem The Raven.
> 
> Tosh's dæmon: I see this as being written '蘭' (meaning "orchid") and '丸' (a common Japanese name ending meaning "full circle" or "perfection"). So, "Ranmaru" could be taken to mean "perfect orchid." (In Hanakotoba, orchids usually mean 'innocence/a rare beauty.') It's also the name of one of the most important and famous people in the history of Japan. Mori Ranmaru, the Wakashū of daimyō Oda Nobunaga, was famous for his devotion, loyalty, and bravery, culminating in his seppuku upon Nobunaga's death.
> 
> Jack's dæmon: "Amoria" was something I adapted from the root word "amare" ('to love' in Italian) and "amor" (the same in Spanish).
> 
> Ianto's dæmon: "Mielikki" is the Finnish goddess of forests and the hunt. Her name is derived from the old Finnish word 'mielu' which means luck.


End file.
